Chapter 11 - Iosif
The gold bell above the door jingles when I walk into The Great Escape.
She’s right there, fiddling with the coffee machine. Looking unbelievable in a brown sweater that clings to every curve. The machine hisses. She turns around with a proud grin, mug in hand.
Janella has come a long way.
Though I doubt she’d believe me, repurchasing the café for her had been a whim. So, imagine my surprise when it makes my pride shine to see Janella bloom in the wake of it.
For weeks now, I’ve honored the vow I swore to myself the morning after my slip.
I dragged her into a new life; it’s best that I back off and let her live it. There’s plenty of trusted security to keep an eye on her. I should be focusing on surveilling Viktor Zakharov.
Our paths still cross over and over.
Janella seeks me out, excitedly chattering about plans.
Cajoling me into sitting down with her for at least one meal a day.
Asking for my opinions. When I try to brush her off, telling her I’m no interior design expert, it backfires.
What starts as her asking Gela for her number turns into coming home to often find some combination of the girls in the penthouse.
One of them is usually in tears from laughing too hard.
Six weeks have flown by in no time at all.
Each day, I discover something new about her.
Past her resilience and sweetness, there is so much more to her.
I see her determination and drive. Quick wit and a sense of humor—and a habit of laughing at her own jokes before she’s through telling them. An ability to ask for help. Endless and profound appreciation for anyone’s time, effort, or even consideration.
Necessary or not, it isn’t easy to stay away from her.
When she insists that I come check out the café that’s become her pride and joy, how the fuck am I supposed to turn her down?
After all, a man’s got to eat lunch.
“Iosif, hey!”
Her face lights up like I’ve just made her entire day.
I’m so fucked.
She passes off the beverage to a barista, wiping her hands on her apron as she makes her way to me. “You came,” she says warmly.
I shove my hands into my coat pockets to keep them the fuck off of her.
“I’m a man of my word.”
She nods seriously, ushering me toward a table.
“I know you are. You’ve just been busy, that’s all! I’m glad you came.” She cajoles me into a seat like I’m not twice her size. “So? What do you think?”
It would have been impossible not notice how hard she’s worked on this. I almost felt bad about myself, watching her study the business diligently. From the nuances of coffee to handling the books, there’s nothing Janella hasn’t committed to mastering.
Obviously, the place is spectacular.
Despite how saturated the coffee chain scene is in Boston, she’s already got a couple of customers in the middle of the day. That says plenty about her customer service skills.
“Enchanting,” I tell her.
It’s so corny, I want to shoot myself.
Still, I can’t regret it when she beams at me, leaning both elbows on the table, eager.
Jesus fuck. Don’t. Do not look at her tits.
Fortunately, in the time I get a menu thrust in my direction and settle on a sandwich, the bell chimes again. I’m grateful someone steals Janella’s golden gaze from me… and then my sisters are beside us.
“Look at what the cat dragged in,” Darya greets.
Nadya throws an arm over her shoulder, adding, “Us.”
“I was referring to our brother.”
“Oops!”
Janella is delighted. She wastes no time getting to her feet, pulling both girls into a hug. The practice has already become instinctive.
I get a quick hug and hello in. Janella sets them up, dragging a couple more chairs to the table and settling everyone in. It comes naturally to her. She’s beatific. They already love her.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I’m so goddamn grateful for the distraction.
It’s Leonid.
“You busy?”
I breathe a sigh of relief, shooting out of my chair. “No. What’s up? What can I do?”
Right. Maybe that was too overeager.
“Pipe down?” he suggests, amused. “I know Miron’s covering Viktor today. Want to tag along with me to do a shipment check?”
“I’m in.”
All three women are obviously eavesdropping. I try to look as apologetic as possible rather than relieved.
There’s something about Janella’s doe-eyed look that has me mouthing “Sorry”.
She reaches out and squeezes my hand, nodding, understanding.
Fuck me.
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I tell Leo and hang up.
What are the chances my brother won’t fuck with me about this?
Seeing the knowing look on Darya’s face as I get away from The Great Escape, I know I can’t bet on it.
***
I assumed Leonid meant checking on one of our shipments. My bad.
This place is crawling with the Genovese.
“This could go so fucking wrong, man,” Leo mutters.
Adrenaline is already coursing through my bloodstream. I’m here. I’m in it, alive. It’s fucking great.
I grin. “Always can until it doesn’t.”
My brother’s raised brow doesn’t leech anything from this high. We prowl through the docks, and my pulse soars.
“Stay down, Iosif. I mean it. We’re just doing recon.”
“I know. I got it.”
But I can’t deny this feels good, being in the thick of it. There’s an element of danger that thrills me. It burns all the pent-up energy inside me, like running off calories.
“Good,” he mouths, his nod directing me to take the left path. We already went over the blueprints in the car. We have a plan. There’s just no planning for all variables. That’s the nature of our lifestyle.
We split up, and I stay low. Keeping an ear out for the telltale sound of a thick-soled tread.
The Genovese mafia runs a tight ship. Every movement is calculated, timed, and necessary. It’s worthy of admiration. And fury, when I hear Leonid curse minutes later.
I break into a run.
He’s on the ground—and has come out on top, bashing in a guard’s head with the butt of his gun. He catches me on the periphery. I waggle my brows, “Who isn’t subtle now, bitch?”
Leo snorts and flips me off, landing a final punch before he’s back on his feet.
“They’ll have fucking heard that. Get over here,” he says.
I’ve got his six in a heartbeat.
We don’t make it ten feet before all hell breaks loose.
Bedlam pours in from every direction. A small army thunders against concrete, closing in on us like they are wolves and we are prey. This is where we should make a run for it. Find cover, get our asses out of here. That would be the smart thing to do.
When the fuck did I claim to be smart?
“Two o’clock,” I hiss, taking a shot over Leonid’s shoulder.
I’m already moving before the body hits the ground.
My knife is in my hand. Two more guards are rounding the corner. Muscle memory takes over every limb. I bury the blade in one’s shoulder, and his gun drops from his hand when I twist it. I’m already yanking it out and burying it in the side of the other’s neck.
“Iosif!” Leonid shouts, planting his fist in another man’s jaw.
Panic has woven its way through his words. I feel electric. This is what I was made for. What I’m good at. Where I thrive.
We’re running again, with Leonid cursing a blue streak in Russian. I laugh when he bitches about how Trifon is going to have our asses for being this dumb.
But I catch his eye, and he grins at me. The thrill is in him, too.
I point left. He nods. We can hear them gathering from the right and back, trying to flank us.
We burst into the warehouse. There are crates piled all the way up to the ceiling. “Fuck yes,” I say, and start climbing the nearest stack.
“Are you fucking insane?” Leonid demands.
Yet he follows suit. I’ve lived this long, haven’t I?
He sees my point when we’re at the top of our manufactured mountain. It’s one hell of a vantage point. The height and visibility will give us an element of surprise. They can pour in from the right, left, front, and back. But they can’t come at us from the top.
They gather like ants on a hill.
We’re outnumbered. I still keep my gun in one hand and dagger in the other.
Eventually, a voice, presumably the one in charge, barks orders in Italian. I don’t speak it often, but I can translate it well enough.
He commands, Half of you, go back and search. You—start shooting the crates.
I’ve barely opened my mouth. Gunfire sends wood splintering everywhere.
I crawl across the crate until I find him. I drop down on him. The impact makes him buckle. I roll, launching into a crouch. Leonid is shooting, covering me from the top. He isn’t just taking them out. He aims at crates, too—and the thrown debris keeps any of them from getting a clear line on me.
That’s how Yuris fucking do it.
I relish in the divine dance of chaos…
Until there’s a misstep.
There are too many of them. They find Leonid and shoot upward. Every gun is aimed at the crate he’s atop. He has no choice. The perch fragments beneath his very feet.
He has no choice but to jump.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck.
I hear the pop of his ankle from two feet away. Pain crumbles his features. He still forces himself upright, his gun still going off. Fine with whatever target it finds.
My need to protect my family burns through the thrill. Adrenaline crystallizes within me until I am as cold as my blade.
I tear through the Genovese. I haul my brother up and take his weight.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We’re a three-legged beast. I keep him upright with an arm, still shooting from the hand. My knife is out, slashing through whoever dares to come close.
“You’re a fucking maniac,” he groans, shooting with both hands.
“Amen,” I drawl.
We burst into the night.
The car is half a block away. With shots going off behind us and any cover hard-won, it may as well be miles away.
But we make it.
We always fucking make it.
***
My pulse has simmered by the time I get him back to the penthouse.
It took longer than we would’ve liked—but we had to lose the Genovese. I couldn’t stand the thought of them finding the penthouse.
Leonid’s putting on a brave face. I can tell he’s in pain. The arm slung around my shoulder ends in a white-knuckled fist. “Almost there,” I promise, navigating us to the couch.
The instant he drops down, despite his agonized moan, relief spreads across his face.
I turn, pulling out my phone to call Oksana. But—
“Iosif?” Janella’s voice sounds from down the hall.
And then there she is.
I freeze.
She’s changed out of her earlier clothes, switching out from that tight sweater and trousers that cupped her ass deliciously to a huge fuzzy sweater and tights. Her hair falls around her face in soft curls. She looks cozy.
She looks like coming home after a long day.
Her serenity evaporates in record time. Her eyes are wide as saucers, spotting Leo on the couch. “Oh my God!” she exclaims, rushing right past me. “What the hell happened?”
She drops to her knees beside him. His ankle is so swollen you can see it through his pant leg.
I scowl as she grazes her fingers over it, so gentle with him. So fucking sweet.
“Living that bratva life,” I sigh, making my way to the kitchen to fetch Leo some ice.
“It’s just a sprain,” Leonid tells her.
Janella follows after me. “Have you iced it?” she asks. I shoot her a look, holding up the icepack. “We should elevate it! Maybe we should take him to the hospital? Ivan is no nurse, you know.”
Behind us, Leonid fucking laughs. “I like this. Yes, good—dote on me, sister-in-law.”
I whip around to glare at him.
He tries not to laugh, that motherfucker.
Don’t start, I warn him telepathically.
Janella misses our exchange. Before I can say a word, she’s disappeared down the hall. When she returns, it’s laden with all manner of supplies, including the first-aid kit from her first night here. She takes the icepack from me and walks away.
Startled, I catch a bottle of vodka under her arm.
She definitely got that from my office.
“For the pain,” she says to Leo, and holds out the bottle to him.
She brings the same care to this as she brings to everything else. I watch her prop up his foot on cushions and inch up his pant leg. She wraps the icepack in a towel and daintily presses it to the swollen mess. She murmurs sugar-sweet apologies to him when he winces.
My brother is looking at her with unadulterated warmth and appreciation.
A dragon breathes flames in the pit of my stomach.
I can’t say a word as she fusses over him. Not even when she turns and asks me, “Have either of you had anything to eat? I can whip something up?”
I shake my head.
I swallow the urge to smack my brother when he squeezes her arm. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’m more of a whiskey man,” he says, and holds up the unopened vodka.
Janella eagerly pads off to get him some.
I stare at Leonid, baffled. He loves vodka. “What the fuck?”
“Nothing. I’ve just never seen you down bad like this before.” He bites back a smile. “It’s nice.”
The tips of my ear heat. I can’t stomach the canny glint in his eyes. Disgruntled and exposed, frustration bubbles up inside me. It isn’t like I’m a lovestruck schoolboy doodling her name in my binder. What the fuck is his problem?
“She’s not even my fucking type, man,” I burst out. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I like a woman I can fuck the shit out of. Does my pretty angel of a wife strike you as that?”
“Are you telling me you haven’t—”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you! That’s not why I fucking married her.
You didn’t see her that night. I had to save her and protect her.
That doesn’t mean it’s like that between us.
She’s a sweetheart—but come on.” I choke out a hoarse laugh.
“A girl like that wouldn’t know what to do with me. ”
I don’t know what to do with her. Her goodness. How fucking amazing she is.
A vision of her comes unbidden. Standing in my bedroom doorway, hunger in her eyes—watching me touch myself.
Leonid slices through that reverie. “She’s holding up fine being a Yuri.”
“Yeah, with the girls,” I allow. “That doesn’t mean I’m fucking her. Or that I ever would.”
And I shouldn’t.
Leonid looks at me long after I look away.
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
I get up and pour us another round of drinks.
“Just shut up and drink, Leo,” I sigh.